


Open Doors

by satb31



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Massage, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/pseuds/satb31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius is concerned about passing the bar exam, and Courfeyrac tries to help him relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boots (pwnmercys)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwnmercys/gifts).



> My half of an art trade with bootssss. All historical errors are my own.

It was a well known fact among the esteemed members of Les Amis that Courfeyrac did not lock the door to his rooms on rue de la Verrerie. His friends questioned the wisdom of his decision, but they did not hesitate to take full advantage of his hospitality.

On several occasions Enjolras and Combeferre exploded into his rooms without knocking, looking for someone to mediate in a dispute, and on most Friday nights Grantaire would stagger in and collapse facedown on the bed next to Courfeyrac, still in his rumpled clothes, reeking of alcohol and smoke and sweat.

So when Courfeyrac was awakened at a late hour one evening by a knock on the door he was certain it was not one of his usual visitors. He stumbled to the door in just his shirt, rubbing his eyes as he opened it to discover Marius nervously fingering his shabby jacket.

“May I come in?” he asked stiffly, his eyes widening at Courfeyrac’s state of deshabille.

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said, ever the gracious host even so late in the evening, gesturing broadly with his left arm to indicate that Marius should enter. “Are you unwell, my friend? Shall I send for Joly?” he inquired as Marius settled precariously on the more unstable of his two chairs.

Marius looked down at his hands and shook his head vehemently. “That is not necessary. But I am scheduled to take the bar exam in two weeks,” he whispered. “And I am not prepared in the slightest.”

Courfeyrac crossed to the rickety table he used both as a desk and a bar and decanted some wine into his only two glasses, handing one to Marius. “Have you been keeping up with your reading?” he inquired, taking a sip of his wine.

Marius looked despondent. “I have been trying, but it is difficult to concentrate in my new rooms. There are so many people in and out of the building, and this wretched young girl keeps visiting me at all hours—” Marius trailed off as he swirled his wine around in the glass.

“Does she now,” Courfeyrac murmured, a sly grin crossing his face. “I did not think you were the type, Monsieur Pontmercy.”

Marius colored to the roots of his dark hair. “It is not like that,” he mumbled into his drink. “She is but a child after all.”

Courfeyrac chuckled and patted him on the shoulder as he sank into the bed, drawing one leg up underneath him. “Do not be so serious, Marius — I am only teasing. You need to calm yourself, however, else you will not be able to concentrate and prepare for the exam properly,” he advised.

Marius pursed his thick lips. “I clearly do not have the time or temperament for relaxation,” he asserted. “Nor, apparently, do I have the temperament for the legal profession,” he added ruefully.

“That is most certainly not true,” Courfeyrac replied, his tone indignant. “You have a fine mind, Marius, even if your views of the current political situation are misguided. You just need to find a way to focus your thoughts in such a way that you do not become distracted.”

Marius yelped plaintively. “But I do not know how!”

Courfeyrac patted the mattress beside him. “Come,” he beckoned. “Remove your coat and your cravat and I will help you.”

Marius sighed heavily, but he obeyed his friend, placing his half-empty wine glass on the table and carefully draping his coat over the desk chair. He unfastened his cravat before taking his place beside Courfeyrac on the bed in just his shirt and trousers. “I do not understand how this will help me learn the law,” he protested.

Courfeyrac took him by the shoulders and gently turned him so his back was to Courfeyrac. “Do I not already have my admission to practice law?” he asked rhetorically. “It was an arduous process to be sure, but I had a mentor to get me through it, who helped me to calm my mind. Permit me to do the same for you.” Courfeyrac brushed the back of his hand down Marius’s stiffened spine, feeling him shiver at his touch.

“I—I do not know—” Marius stammered, his face crimson.

“Trust me,” Courfeyrac whispered in his ear. “Prouvaire has been reading Chinese texts about how medical gymnastics can assist in healing and relaxation.” He placed his right hand on the nape of Marius’s neck, kneading the taut muscles as Marius’s head lolled forward. “And he has shown me a few techniques.”

Marius’s only reply was a low, throaty moan.

Encouraged, Courfeyrac began to knead Marius’s shoulders, feeling every sinew and knot underneath his friend’s skin and feeling the tension begin to drain from the aspiring lawyer. “May I continue?” he asked, his tone as formal as his caress was intimate.

Marius nodded vigorously.

At Marius’s assent, Courfeyrac entangled his hands in Marius’s thick hair, massaging his scalp with his long fingers. “Think of this as a way to prepare your brain to be filled with legal theories,” he assured him, his voice as soothing as his touch.

“It appears to be working,” Marius murmured half to himself. “I do believe my head is becoming less congested.”

Courfeyrac grinned widely. “I will not take advantage and convince you how wrong you are about Bonaparte,” he promised. “But perhaps there are other ways you will let me press my advantage.”

Marius pulled away and turned to look at Courfeyrac, his eyes wide. “Press your advantage? In what regard?” he asked.

“Patience, my friend. Remove your shirt, if you please,” Courfeyrac requested, his manners still impeccable. “Then lie on your back and prop your head up against the pillows.”

Marius stared at him slack-jawed, but his intrigue got the better of him and he did as Courfeyrac requested, removing his shirt with shaky hands. He stretched out on the bed, his ghostly pale chest a stark contrast against the dark coverlet, and closed his eyes, awaiting the touch of Courfeyrac’s soft hands. Instead he felt the weight of Courfeyrac’s body pressing on top of his — and his lips on his own.

Marius gasped, but he reflexively wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac’s neck and tried to tug him closer. “Monsieur de Courfeyrac!” he cried out when they pulled apart.

“You know I do not like the ‘de,’ Marius,” Courfeyrac reminded him.

“I—I am sorry—” Marius stammered, wanting the touch of his friend’s lips against his again. “I implore you not to hold it against me.”

Courfeyrac flashed his brilliant smile. “Certainly not,” he said. “But there are other things I can hold against you,” he teased, pressing the lower half of his body against Marius’s so he could feel the hardness below his waist through his shirt.

Marius swallowed hard. “I have never—”

“I will be as gentle as a summer’s day,” Courfeyrac reassured him, pushing Marius’s damp hair off of his brow. “But every bit as temperate,” he promised, bestowing a light kisses on Marius’s forehead before he traced a straight line down the very center of Marius, pausing at the waistband of his trousers. “But only if you think it will assist you with your current dilemma.”

Marius let out a strangled cry. “Yes,” he consented.

Courfeyrac deftly unbuttoned Marius’s trousers and reached inside, feeling Marius’s warm length. He stroked him lightly, feeling him stiffen in his hands. “Would you prefer that I use my hands or my mouth?” he asked, gazing up at Marius with his heavy-lidded eyes.

Marius was tense with anticipation, as his member had never been touched by another’s mouth, or even a hand other than his own. “Mouth,” he breathed.

Courfeyrac withdrew Marius’s engorged cock from his trousers and immediately devoured him without warning, taking as much of him into his mouth as he could manage, his lush lips a revelation to Marius, whose groaning crescendoed with every flick of Courfeyrac’s tongue. The impending exam and his difficult living situation completely forgotten in that moment — indeed, the entire Napoleonic code was exiled from his brain.

As befit his inexperience as a lover, it did not take long for him to spend quickly and wildly into Courfeyrac’s mouth.

Courfeyrac released him gently and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Marius’s thigh. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he reclined on his side next to Marius, watching as his friend recovered his senses. “Has your anxiety passed?” he asked after a moment.

“Somewhat,’ Marius admitted, his words coming out in bursts as he tried to catch his breath. “I have probably forgotten everything I know, at least at present, though for some reason my concerns seem to have been lessened.”

Courfeyrac was triumphant. “I am so pleased to hear that, Marius.”

“I do believe, however, that I may require future — future tutoring. And more of those medical gymnastics Prouvaire is so fond of.” He reached over and tentatively touched Courfeyrac’s arm, a ghost of a smile visible on his face. “And perhaps you could help me find a way to repay you for your kindness.”

Courfeyrac nodded vigorously, the thought of the repayment plan exciting him tremendously. “For you, Marius,” he confided. “My door is always open.”


End file.
